


Marth One-Shots

by DigitalSiamese



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, One Shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 17:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16791361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigitalSiamese/pseuds/DigitalSiamese
Summary: A collection of one-shots in no particular order for Markus/North, because there really isn't enough content for them.





	1. Fire

There was fire in the streets.

There was screaming and crying, distant gunshots echoing around him; at the edge of his mind, a slow, throbbing pain pulsing like waves through his body. But he was only dimly aware of these things. Guilt crawled up his back like an unwanted parasite, choking out all coherent thoughts, leaving him with a raw, untamed _grief_ that scraped at his insides -

“Markus.”

The world suddenly snapped back into focus.

North was there. Wonderful, beautiful North, still beside him. She held him now, arms wrapped securely around his chest as he leaned against her. “Markus? Are you - are you okay?”

“North.” At last, Markus found his words again. “Yeah, I -” He stopped, halfway through lying about being alright. It was second nature to him, to brush off concern, to deflect the attention away from himself; but he didn’t have to be that way anymore. Not with her.

“No,” he said at last. “No, I’m not okay.”

Silence. Her embrace loosened as he shifted to sit upright, but she didn’t let go of him.

“None of us are okay, North,” he continued, voice wavering. “All I wanted was a future for our people, and now - there aren’t - it wasn’t supposed to -” He buried his face in his hands, trying to slow the crackle of electricity running through his wires.

North curled around him, her head resting on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Markus,” she stated, and she was so certain that for a split second the chaos in his mind was silent. “There was never really a chance for us. We knew that. We always knew that.”

Heat began to fill the room; somewhere nearby, a dreadfully familiar crackle filled the quiet spaces.

“But you...you gave us hope where we had none.” Her hand found his, fingers lacing together. “You gave us the courage to fight another day. And maybe this is where we were always destined to end up.”

Tendrils of orange began to lick at the walls.

“But our story doesn’t end here. What we’ve done today - they won’t forget it. Not anytime soon. And maybe someday things will really change.”

Markus turned to look at her, and though there was fear in her eyes she met his gaze with a smile. “North,” he said again, softly. “You know, I think you’re right.”

She smirked, replying, “When am I not?”

Chuckling, Markus cupped her face with his free hand and leaned in to rest his forehead against hers. “I’m glad it was you,” he murmured, “here, with me, at the end.”

The fire was growing brighter and hotter with every moment.

“Me too,” North agreed. Wordlessly, they separated, and Markus offered her his hand as he stood. “Together?”

“Always.”


	2. Day

Summer.

Hot, still air, heavy with humidity, thick like a milkshake with every breath. Condensation dripping down the smooth curve of a glass. Silence - no birds, no barking dogs, no roar of traffic. The city at a standstill. Above, the Sun, blinding and brilliant and oppressive.

And in the middle of it all, North, relishing the way her skin burns under the light.

"You'll overheat if you stay out much longer." A shadow falls over her face. Her eyes flutter open, and she's greeted by the familiar face of her lover.

"I'll be fine," she remarks, just to be contrary. Markus rolls his eyes and offers her a hand, which she ignores. "I like the Sun," she states.

Markus takes the hint and lays down next to her on the lawn.

"It's comforting, you know. The light, the warmth. It's...we didn't have any of that on the _Jericho_." She pauses, fingers weaving through the grass. "Sometimes it's hard to believe that any of this is real. That it's more than a good dream. But being out here, like this..."

She lapses into silence again, the quiet swinging comfortably between them. Markus reaches over and takes her hand.

They lie together in the sunlight for some time.

"Markus! North! You kids better come inside before you overheat!"

"Coming, Carl!"


	3. Home

"I'm home, dear!" he said, closing the door behind him, and for one blissful moment she felt like a wife in a wholesome family movie from the 1950s.

It was an odd sensation - and an odd association, she had to admit. She was up to her elbows in soapy water, bent over the kitchen sink as she scrubbed layers of periwinkle paint off of her forearms. There were no dishes to clean, no excited children to look after; but the image stuck in her brain, especially when Markus wandered over and placed a kiss on her cheek.

He sat down at the table and she asked him about his day.

Stability, she finally realized. She finished scrubbing and dried her arms with a hand towel, sitting down across from Markus. 1950s housewives weren't leaders of revolutions or runaways with criminal records, but they had stability, familiarity - something that resonated with North at that moment. Something that she knew she would never take for granted. Something which, after the life she had led so far, seemed like a gift far greater than what she deserved.

Markus paused in the middle of his story. "Penny for your thoughts?" he asked.

North smiled and took his hand. "I'm just glad you're home."


	4. Chapter 4

She could still feel them. Hands searching her body; rough tugs on her wrists, on her arms; heated kisses scattered among the bruises that once bloomed on her skin like a garden of dark flowers.

“I don’t think you understand,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She hugged herself, turned away to watch the rain that fell outside the window.

Their words still rang in her ears: passionate declarations, angry retorts; but the ones that echoed the loudest were the ones she wished so desperately that she could forget. So many names, so many faces, so many silent tears that had kept her awake at night.

“They put me through hell, all of them, and I called it love.” He was right beside her, close enough to touch her but never once breaking into her personal space. Biting her lip, she steadied herself, drawing a slow breath; and when she finally looked at him, she could only find the strength to murmur one last thing: “Please don’t do the same.”

He was silent. At last he reached out to her, extending a hand - an offering, an invitation, one which she accepted with a questioning look in her eyes. “You’re right,” he replied. “I don’t understand.” He gently squeezed her hand but made no further move for contact. “I could promise you that it’ll be different now, but I know that’s not enough. However, I _can_ promise you that I will take it slow...”

He shifted to face her fully.

“...that I will do everything I can to earn your trust...”

Tentatively, she took a half-step toward him.

“...that I will love you every day, if you let me.” A smile pulled on his lips, at the same time comforting as well as filled with an anxious hopefulness.

She took a full step toward him this time, closing the distance between them as she leaned her head against his chest. His arms circled around her, his head coming to rest against hers; and together, in the quiet and the peace and the promise of a new beginning, they watched the rain.


	5. Flowers

The last time Markus ever saw North was in the back room at work, braced against the wall with a hand pressed tightly over her mouth, eyes wide. Her shoulders were shaking. He had wanted to go to her - had even set down the floral arrangement he was working on; but before he could get to her, Kara was by her side, asking if she was alright.

_She'll be okay_ , he had thought foolishly. But he wouldn't know he was wrong until it was too late.

He thinks about it now, careful to support the tastefully wrapped bouquet in his hands as he rides the subway. How could he have missed something so obvious? The signs had been there: flirting thinly disguised as casual banter; invitations to coffee; and then her regular trips to the bathroom, becoming more and more frequent until that last day.

Part of him wishes North would have told him she had Hanahaki. The other part of him wonders what he would have done if she had.

Her tombstone is simple but elegant, just the way she would have liked it. Markus bends down over the grave to place the bouquet beneath her name, and then takes a step back. He'd brought her tulips today, tulips in red and yellow and pink, tied with a silver ribbon. "Hey -" he starts, but the words catch in his throat. Oddly enough, he's run out of things to say, even though the list of things he regrets never telling her grows longer with each visit. There's no point in it now - she's gone, and promises are hollow if there's no one there to hear them.

So he doesn't speak. After a time he nods farewell and walks back to the subway, trying to ignore the ache in his chest as he heads home. He misses her. The emptiness she left behind is bitter, because all he can think about now is the _what ifs_ and _could have beens_.

He loves her, but he loves her too late.

Unrequited love is a poison, dark and deadly. No one deserves it - except, maybe _he_ does. That's why, when he finds himself standing in the hall of his apartment, hands cupped to catch the spill of velvet petals falling from his lips, he can't help but feel a little relieved.


End file.
